


Born a Hot, White Diamond

by scrapbullet



Category: Inception
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...Would you like me to play the world’s smallest violin?" Where Arthur burns his tongue and Eames is, well, Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born a Hot, White Diamond

"...Would you like me to play the world’s smallest violin?"

Arthur scowls, and the world weeps.

"You could at least be a little more considerate." Arthur utters with disdain, lisping faintly, the tip of his tongue numb from a damn good scalding. But then, that's what you get when you're much too eager to eat your soup, yes? Arthur's a big boy, he should know by now, and yet, there's nothing quite like burning an appendage to send you back to the horror of your youth; his cheeks red and his face pulled down into an expression of pure disgust.

Eames, on the other hand, finds it hilarious.

"Arthur... when one wishes to cool down their food enough for consumption, they blow on it. Why, pray tell, did you not blow?" Lush lips quirk up into a wicked smile. Tension rockets skyward, palpable and thick enough to cut with a knife.

Arthur's face blackens; _if looks could kill._

"Oh _darling_ ," Eames sighs, fighting to keep the smile off of his face. It's difficult when Arthur looks so delicious, so put out, so _embarrassed_ and well... we can't be having that now can we? Plucking an ice cube out of his glass he presses it to Arthur’s lips, fingers dripping, unsurprised when Arthur refuses to give. “Now now... don’t be like that. It’s unseemly.”

Arthur huffs. There’s a pause where Eames thinks that maybe, just maybe Arthur will tell him to go die in a fire; for laughing; for being a _prick_ , no doubt but the moment passes and he parts his lips.

As soon as the ice cube touches his burnt tongue, the tightness around Arthur’s eyes eases. It softens, just barely, enough for Eames to see the vulnerable underbelly of a man with walls so high they reach the moon.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Eames says, smiles.

The ice melts but Eames’ fingers remain, resting against Arthur’s lower lip.


End file.
